bloodstream
by quorra laraex
Summary: In the dead of night, they meet. And they have no intention of killing each other. — Sasuke/Sakura, & the fragile boundary of night and day


**[bloodstream]**

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The discoloration of the falling leaves and the crunch heard after every trudging step helps to distinguish the time. It's the break of Autumn—possibly October, maybe November—it doesn't matter. It's all he needs to know. He hasn't seen them in three and a half years. Except the Haruno girl.

No. He sees her almost every night.

The bone structure of her porcelain face will appear in the depths of his mind, and it'll only last a few seconds. She'll say his name, sometimes she'll tell him to come back. He'll say a simple and cold '_don't be stupid_'. There are rare times where it's as if he's able to touch her, but their skin is never in contact because something holds them apart. Once, the image of her shattered when he walked toward her. Another, there was a glass in between them. Separated.

It doesn't matter, though.

It shouldn't.

They are only dreams.

Figments of his imagination, particles of his mind collaborating as one coming from the inner pieces of his very soul in order to configure such a distasteful color—the oh-so-light mixture of blood red and milk white. And then it's her voice. Feminine and _annoying_—but serene, tranquil, all in one. She's always happy in these illusions. And despite everything, Haruno Sakura will always remind him of home.

-x-

Sasuke can vividly remember the time he's first laid eyes on the clumsy, ignorant girl. Her eyes, they're big pools of limes and leaves—two of his favorite things. Pink hair. He snorts. She has a large forehead and tiny fingers that are fiddling with her flimsy locks, which only barely reached her shoulders. She steals a glance at him every now and then. He notices every time. He was only six years old. It's warm that day, the sunlight bothering his eyes, and it's still light outside at the brim of eight o'clock. He remembers her as the girl in the summer.

Haruno Sakura, the girl dancing in the sun with her head held up high and a grin breaking on her face. She'd always been such a gleeful child. She'd always love him—day after day, year after year since that day in June. He wishes she didn't.

-x-

He isn't sure why he dreams of her. It's not as if he wants to. He'll dream of everyone—Kakashi, even, but it's her face he sees _every_ night. Sometimes, he won't even be asleep, and he thinks that he's seen her, behind a tree or in the clouds or in the bed of flowers.

-x-

The last time they had actually seen each other, she tried to kill him.

He didn't know what to think when he saw those familiar bright eyes with a sense of danger tingling in the rims. He notes her appearance. Beige cloak, kunai in hand. He knew this day had been coming for years. He's not sure if he's ready. His eyes squint at her when she says she'll join him.

It's a trap, he knows it. They shouldn't underestimate his abilities. Especially her—to have come alone like this. They must be coming, he thinks, not allowing his eyes to flicker in the direction they'll be coming from. It's soon.

When she tries to attack him, he doesn't fail to notice the change in her strength. He's not going to get beaten up by her. Injured by Sakura? Pathetic, he thinks, as his glare hardens. He needs to scare her—make her stomach drop to the floor and reverse her mind and the way her heart beats. It needs to alter, and there's only one thing to do before he knows his former teacher will intercede and rescue her in no hesitation. He needs to buy time, conversing and tempting her to kill the redhead at his feet.

When she begins to cry, he couldn't have expected any less. And then he hears the padding coming from his right—it's swift and steady and quick. He pivots his body in a one-eighty turn, catching her off guard to give her the heart stopping image of him having no mercy in her death. A façade he's always been good at: not caring. And as he planned, she's saved by the grey-haired man who taught them everything they knew.

She's still taken aback, but it still hasn't registered. He can tell by the shortening of her breaths. Naruto comes through this peripheral vision. Once more, and she'll get the message. He whips the kunai away from her with a free hand, and uses the other one for his advantage to wrap around her neck and lift her to the air. She's choking, but once she'll be out of his grip, he know she'll be fine. The grasp of the knife at his hand clenches even tighter and he counts a bit before the old, blonde friend is on his way to save this precious girl he's still obviously in love with. The kunai sweeps through the air, just in time to miss the awestruck ninja and cut the other former comrade as he lifts Sakura from the grip and shoots Sasuke a condescending glare.

_Don't you dare harm a single hair on her head_, it screams to him. The Uzumaki boy's eyes had never been so cruel against his. It's deadly.

Little did they know, he hadn't planned on it.

Even when _they_ had been the ones to first initiate the kill.

Sakura couldn't have killed him, and if he'd have killed her, he would not forgive himself—his hands are bloody enough.

He wishes that the incident that day could have changed her perspective on him. She can't love him, not anymore—she needs a new motivation—and he had only tried showing her that. It's pointless to hold such feelings for someone who tried to dispose of his own. To feel is a weakness. They hold you back, allow you to hesitate. They mess with your mind, and make you regret and hope and wish and fantasize—and Uchiha Sasuke had no time for that bullshit.

But when he's asleep, he's fantasizing and hoping and regretting everything for _her_—to see her—it's inevitable and he can't control it. He hates himself for it.

-x-

So he tries to avoid sleeping, to avoid dreaming, to avoid _her_.

But sleeping means energy, and energy means reflexes and quick feet, and he needs that every chance he gets. But god dammit—she keeps him _sane_, when he really shouldn't be. His sanity should be tucked away, every single ounce of it—hidden. It has to be hidden.

Everything had to be hidden.

-x-

There are times he lets himself go. That's when he's alone, particularly when the sun is long gone and his legs are weak, his eyes set upon the darkness of the sky and his breath leaves smoke in the air. These kinds of times are rare for the Uchiha. He'll think of his brother, and cooking with his mother and being scolded by his father. He'll remember the pokes and jabs, and small innocent little memories. The illusion is shattered once he envisions the death of them all. It will turn dark, the sight. And he'll feel that it is enough, that everything is done for. Then he'll see a barely noticeable shade of white pink. There's a red bow, and warm crimson cheeks. And then he's reminded of something majestic and indescribable and he won't feel hollow in the space between his bones.

He's asked himself before, a couple of times. Does he love her?

Haruno Sakura.

He says her name in the dead of night, almost solemnly, dark and quiet. It's different on his tongue. He realizes how long it's been since the last time he's ever addressed her name. His face is emotionless beside his corrupted mind.

"Thank you."

Those were words of truth, the last statement he had acknowledged her love for him with his last bit of dignity. He had been thankful—still is—for being loved, appreciated. It reminds him of the life before the chaos. Of course, Naruto had loved him, as well, just as Sakura. Friends, they call it. But the thought of Naruto didn't remind him of the halcyon days he longed for.

A lot of different, unusual things remind him of Sakura.

The scent of jasmine tea, the sight of daffodils, the feel of the sun, and the color of it setting—a lazy haze of pink and red and everything in between screams Sakura, the girl who loves you—the girl who had always been willing to give him the heart he needed, the warmth he lacked, the protection he never had. Everything reminds him of Haruno Sakura, from the leaves of trees to the acidic aroma of blood, sweat, tears, and the point of desperation.

Did he miss her?

Uchiha Sasuke did not crave her and the scent that clung to her skin and the smell of cherry blossoms in her hair. He did not want to hear her know-it-all honey-laced voice or the way she said that stupid honorific after his name. He didn't want to see the diamond olives of her orbs or the way her curvy little lips puckered.

No, no, no, no; if he missed her, it would mean regretting his decisions. Sasuke does not regret anything. Regrets are for moronic idiots.

But Sakura is everything, when she shouldn't have meant anything to him.

-x-

When Sasuke will wake up in the morning, the sanity will be long gone tucked away and left behind, just as always. The innocence of the night is gone.

-x-

They breathe in silence, and he thinks that the stars have gotten a little brighter.

She breaks the silence, like always. "You can come back."

He doesn't reply.

"Your heart isn't as cruel as you want it to be, Sasuke-kun," the girl drawls. Her eyelashes flutter as she blinks. She stares at him as he stares at the sky. There is no glass separating them, and there is no shattering illusions.

"What heart?"

-x-

Sakura does this now, frequently and desperately, all in utter secrecy, at least four times a week. When the clock strikes midnight, she waits another twenty minutes before she shortly wraps a dark cloak around her frame and runs to him, deep and cold of the forest.

It's wrong of her, they both know it. But she doesn't stop, and he doesn't tell her to.

Maybe they had been just as lonely.

The first time she's seen him in the longest time is purely by accident.

She was running, the wind blistering her skin. She was angry, upset, and disappointed—it was Naruto's fault—it was always Naruto's fault, and just as she had been thinking her predicament and argument through, she catches view of someone she wouldn't have ever thought she'd literally run into.

She'd been crying. How _Sakura_ of her. He snorts.

Her panting becomes heavier as she steps back and her eyes—those familiar pea green eyes widen. She's trembling, and she's biting her gun to keep her teeth from clattering. Held down, she slowly yet frighteningly backs up, unsure of what to do. She runs through the possibilities; bolting backwards to Konoha without a word of seeing him or darting forward—she had a kunai with her, and she _had_ been training. He was a wanted man, a criminal, in the village's eyes—as well as her own. She glares and fixes her stance. They study each other.

He doesn't quite know what to do.

He can easily kill her off, he knows that, and he knows she's expecting him to initiate an attack. But he had never done so to them. It had always been them to begin a battle with him. He doesn't move. There's no point. He'll defeat Konoha in the future, the very near future. Killing her is useless, she should know for her very well being. Sasuke turns on his heel and proceeds in the other direction, glancing at her one last time before he walks off.

"Wait!"

His head rotates to the side of his shoulder-blade, and his dark irises meet her curious pupils.

"Why didn't you kill me?"

"Why should I?"

He hears her fidget a bit, her feet on a pile of twigs. She manages to mutter steadily, "No… not right now. The time I tried to kill you."

There's a tinge of shock in his eyes and he hopes she didn't see it. It's dark after all. "I tried. Your idiot friends saved you."

"You knew they were going to," she musters quietly, but confidently. "Is that right, Sasuke-kun?"

"Don't flatter yourself," he snidely comments. "I could kill you easily, right here and now."

"I—I've thought about it every day since it happened," her eyes are on the ground and he doesn't allow his cold gaze to soften. His brows tense. Just a bit. She continues, "They don't believe me, though. When I say that there's a chance that you can still be the old you—that you're still your old self."

"Because I'm not."

"Don't flatter yourself," she brushes a strand of salmon hair behind her ear.

He smirks and she shoots him a soft smile.

-x-

He tells her he's still going to destroy Konoha, and she blindly asks him why he never constantly looks over the option of forgiveness. He doesn't say anything the rest of that night.

-x-

It's when Sasuke turns his body as he's on the edge of falling asleep and staying awake when he sees her sleeping face, so vulnerable and weak before his eyes that he knows. Knows that he could never kill her, harm her, or let anyone come close to hurting her, for that matter. She's just so… is this what Naruto would call beautiful? He'd always been told that beautiful were landscapes and elegant girls with jewelry and fine silks.

(To him, Sakura is much, _much_ more than that)

Like always, she gives him the sense of hope, of happiness and leisure and a new chance at life, without the loss of love and the lack of care.

And before he falls asleep beside her, he'll imagine a life with her, and may even think it's better than what his original goal had been. The thought will last throughout the night, until he'll wake up at sunrise by himself, sanity hidden and charging demeanor on full blow once again.

-x-

And he decides.

Uchiha Sasuke loves Haruno Sakura.

He'd never tell her, though.

-x-

There is a time when she doesn't visit for over a month. He doesn't do a thing about it.

He shouldn't.

But as uncontrollable as it is, he still dreams of her every night.

It's the bloom of winter, and he hears the padding of her boots as the snow crunches behind him. He doesn't bother sitting up. Like usual, she plants herself beside him, resting her head on the wet surface without a care. Her hands are calloused, her knees knobby. There are plenty of stars above them, but they don't shine as bright as before.

Sasuke opens his eyes as she begins the conversation. She always does. "Kakashi-sensei caught me."

"Hn."

"He accused me of being your accomplice."

"I should have killed you the first chance I got."

Silence drowns them, like always. Helpless, cold silence. Almost as cold as it heart grows to be. The wind bristles past the empty branches of trees and chimes around them. It blows her tresses around and caresses her face that's painted with contempt. Goosebumps. She sighs and he doesn't react. There's an ache somewhere in his chest and he isn't sure why and how he is to stop it.

"I never asked to love you, you know," she chokes. She isn't crying. "Tonight, I have to kill you. He's trained me for this. But I won't. I—I can't."

"Disappointing."

She falls asleep beside him, water blinding her eyes. When she wakes up before the break of dawn to escape before he awakes to leave his side like always, he's already gone.

-x-

Uchiha Sasuke never returns to that forest, even when he knows she comes every week to see if he's there. He won't be. He's drifted too far from his goal, and he also knows he must be on the road to be insanity driven and merciless.

Wasting time was never an option, yet he took it anyways.

He still dreams, and he can't stop, because Haruno Sakura resides in his bloodstream. She's sunken into his veins and derived into his soul and he can't carve her out.

Madara will ask why his eyes are weak and bloodshot on its very own and why there are dark circles beneath them. Sasuke won't answer, and Madara will threaten to kill him if the nonsense doesn't stop.

-x-

There's an aroma of sweat and pain sweeping through the warm, uncut air. There's hacking somewhere in the distance, embraced with grunts and groans. Someone swears in the distance, another says '_it's finally over_'. His head is turned to his right, and all he in sight on this side are the sprouting of daffodils. Sasuke is not sure if the liquid in his eyes are tears or blood or perhaps it's a mixture of both.

He's nothing but tattered, stained ruby clothing and severed limbs. Gashes cover every inch of his skin and there's a pulse at his eyes. He can barely see anything. He can't move his legs, or his arms, and his head feels wet and broken, his skull cracked. This is it, his time is almost up. The last thing he sees is a collaboration of coral and lime mixed in the color of cherry tomatoes, and he's not sure if it's blood or just her apparel.

She kneels by his side, and whispers something almost inaudible to him.

"_Disappointing_."

He coughs, his mouth intoxicated with fluids. His throat burns, but he forces himself to talk. His words come out slow, rough at the tone. "I'm sorry, Sakura."

"Is this what you wanted?"

"There's… a difference between… want and need," he manages to choke out. "I never wanted to love. I wanted to forgive. But everything—everything was reversed."

She cries then, beside him and allows herself to wrap her arms around him. It takes all her strength for her not to heal him or patch up his injuries. He doesn't want her to. It will only be an unstoppable round of vengeance and betrayal if he were to be healed. It would never end. They both know the only route is death.

Before the orbs of his eyes fade to a hollow, dense grey, there is a shortening of his breaths and the pounding under his ribs cease. Soon, the blurry image of her becomes nothing but black, and the sound of her weeping deteriorates along with his body. Memories play in his head, of his mother, of his father, of Itachi and his clan, of Naruto, of Kakashi, of Haruno Sakura.

And even when dying, he dreams of her. The only difference is that he's not ashamed, because she'll always be a part of him, whether he liked it or not.

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**fin.**

**a/n:** sorry if there are some errors here and there, didn't have time to re-read. i really don't know how to feel about this. i was so pumped to write this in the beginning, and near the middle-to-end i felt like i kind of just got lazy and screwed up the whole thing.

anyways, please review! it would be lovely if you did, i'd like to know your thoughts. critique if you must. thanks :)


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